


Tongue Tied

by ElliottWitt



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Play, Big Boi Makoa, Blow Jobs, Deepthroating, Elliot Is Determined To Prove He's Hole, Enthusiastic Consent, Exhibitionism, Finger Sucking, Hand Jobs, Legends Getting Up To Some Bullshit In Paradise Lounge, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 02:59:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19286737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElliottWitt/pseuds/ElliottWitt
Summary: It's not uncommon for friendships to strike up amongst the Legends. Hell, Elliott's been fortunate enough to count a fair share of them as some of his closest companions these days.As of late, though, it's become increasingly difficult to consider Makoa Gibraltar as 'just a friend'.In the aftermath of of one of the post-Game parties at Paradise Lounge, it becomes increasingly clear the fact hasn't escaped the rest of the Legends' notice either.Including Makoa's.





	Tongue Tied

**Author's Note:**

  * For [volatileSoloist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/volatileSoloist/gifts).



> Me: gets a request for simple Miraltar deepthroat fic  
> Also me: 7981 words later.
> 
> ANYWAY this is a gift!fic for one of my absolute fave people, my beloved [Kit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/volatileSoloist/pseuds/volatileSoloist), ilu so much!!!! <3 <3 This gift is absolutely not nearly enough repayment for the amount of My Bullshit you put up with from me but I LOVE YOU and your big galaxy brain so HERE IT IS ANYWAY!!!!
> 
> I obnoxiously tagged all the Legends even though this is primarily just a Miraltar PWP, but there _is_ some cute Legends antics before it just dives into the porn so hey, absolutely feel free to just read that, then bow out once they leave the bar. Or scroll down to the very end for some more Legends Bullshit lol. I had a lot of fun writing this one, I hope people have fun reading it!
> 
> Small note that this does take place after they've been drinking, but they're pretty sober when this goes down, but just as a head's up.
> 
> Lastly, big thanks to my beloved [Halo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BagelHero), [Riley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlushRumps) and....[Kit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/volatileSoloist/pseuds/volatileSoloist) bc they are too good to me for betaing, fdskjgksdg, for betaing this for me (LIKE FOUR TIMES IF NOT MORE)!!! Love you guys and your endless patience for the fact I can never remember where anyone's fucking hands are during porn. AND AS ALWAYS, A BIG THANK YOU TO MY APEX SERVER FRIENDS, I love you guys so much for all your love and support and getting me back into writing again, you're some of the most important people in my life and I LOVE YOU!

Maybe Elliott’s imagining things.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s misinterpreted a signal -- he’s received enough withering looks or people straight-up rolling their eyes and storming away from him in the past to know that, y’know — his charm didn’t exactly work on _everyone_.

And usually, that’s not such a big deal. Sure, perhaps his ego deflates a tad, but… Most of the time, he never sees the person again, it doesn’t actually affect his day-to-day too badly -- just fucks with his anxiety somewhat, and what else is new when it came to that. 

But when it’s a _work_ colleague…

 _That’s_ different. 

He’s been participating in the Games for some time now, has even climbed the ranks high enough to be named one of the actual _Legends_ \-- so yeah, of course he’s made friends over the course of that time. Sure, it’s a dangerous bloodsport, but they’ve all made their way to the top by being the best of the _best_ , whether it be working alongside or against one another. And the Legends themselves have all built up a strange kind of friendship -- in various forms, from affable rivalries, to straight-up best friends.

Elliott had of course known Pathfinder from before -- and admittedly, even though the MRVN could be... borderline terrifying at times, Elliott _did_ enjoy his company, and hey, he did seem to be enjoying himself. So maybe advising the smiling robot to take part in the Games wasn’t _the_ stupidest thing he’s ever done.

Maybe. There are still occasions when -- upon witnessing Pathfinder declare that his favourite part of the Game was sniping someone through the skull -- he thinks to himself that he could have just offered Path paid employment at the bar or something, but. 

At least he’s having fun.

Aside from Path, he’s found that the closest friendships he’s struck up have been with Ajay, Octavio, and of all people, Makoa Gibraltar. Ajay and Octavio are much like himself -- for all the care and consideration Ajay puts into her work as a combat medic, her truly wicked side comes out whenever she’s in the presence of Octavio. And, hell, Octavio is just plain _fun_ to be around -- albeit Ajay’s existence is definitely the only reason he’s still alive. Elliott doesn’t just mean the Gauntlet accident -- although he has his own doubts about how much of that had been a genuine _accident_ \-- in the past, Elliott had straight-up witnessed Octavio trying to utilise a jump pad, with the intent of lassoing one of the Flyers that soared over the Canyon for one of his livestreams, before Ajay intervened.

Path, Octactio, Ajay - they were just the kind of people he tends to naturally gravitate towards -- folk with a taste for chaos, never mind where they fell on the sliding scale.

Gibraltar, however, had been unexpected.

All the more unexpected because he feels _closer_ to him than he does the others, in a way he isn’t particularly sure how to parse. Sure, he laughs along with Makoa just as much as he does the others, but there’s something about his... presence that sets Elliott more at ease. Whenever the other man is around, be it gearing up in the changing room before a match, trading jokes and friendly taunts, or at the bar after a Game, cheerfully recounting the day’s events, Elliott just feels his frayed nerves somehow _soothe_. 

He’s never really... felt like that with anyone before, and it gives him feelings he doesn’t really know what to do with. Like when he hears Makoa chuckling, or when he sees him shoot small smiles in Elliott’s direction, it never fails to make something tighten in his chest. As well as the way it feels like every nerve in his body _jumps_ when Makoa lays a hand on his shoulder, or pats his back, so warm and so familiar and leaving Elliott’s skin tingling whenever he pulls away. 

But lately, it feels like maybe those smiles that he flashes Elliott are a little bit _different_ , a little bit warmer than the ones he shares with the other Legends. Lately, those touches seem to linger just a little _too_ long, and --

 

Elliott could _swear_ that on one occasion, after Makoa had rewarded him with his usual hearty slap on the back post-Game, his hand had slid down, fingers _lightly_ grazing the base of his spine before suddenly moving away, already calling out and waving to Anita.

Elliott had stood there, stunned and trying to figure out whether or not that had even actually _happened_ \-- until Octavio had charged in, more souped-up than ever, as was typical whenever they won, and decided to gleefully tackle Mirage to the ground. Trying to fight off a man with fucking robotic legs had been enough of a distraction to take Elliott’s mind off it in the moment, but.

But.

At home alone at night, as he lay in bed, as his hand traveled down his own body and wrapped around his stirring cock, he couldn’t _help_ but think about it. 

So maybe he’s imagining things. But even if he _isn’t_ , this _really_ isn’t the sort of thing he should be thinking about at _all_. Everyone knows it’s a bad idea for Legends to get involved with one another, and Blisk had even explicitly _warned_ them against it -- although Elliott has definitely caught Anita staring at Ajay a little too long every now and again -- not even just as hook-ups. They’re work colleagues, after all, no matter how friendly they get with one another. And there is no _way_ something like that wouldn’t end up affecting his performance in the ring -- Elliott is _already_ having to make a real effort to not get too distracted by Makoa on the field, and acting on any actual desires could only make matters far, far worse.

So he tells himself he’s imagining things, and tries not to think too much about it.

He utterly fails at the task, but he does _try_.

***

Post-Game after-parties at Paradise Lounge had become something of a tradition for the Legends -- after all, when your friend owns a bar, why not make the most of it? Even _Caustic_ came along these days, after enough poking and prodding from the other Legends. 

The bar has closed by now, all other patrons having been shunted out, leaving just the Legends together by themselves, a little drunk still but generally winding down.

It had been one of the tamer parties -- Octavio had only set a _few_ fires, which was relatively good behaviour for him. The decoys were closing up the bar, as the smaller cleaning bots went about their duties, sweeping across the floor beneath their feet, washing away the spilled drinks and general grime that had accumulated over the course of the night. 

Caustic had fallen asleep at some point, slumped back in his chair, which of _course_ means Octavio has managed to produce a marker from somewhere and is presently giggling to himself as he drew obscenities on Caustic’s face. Ajay snatches the marker away from him -- only to ask Elliott if he has any scissors or a razor handy. Elliott blinks in surprise, directing her toward where he keeps the knives they use to slice fruit for drinks, as well as some scissors -- but he’s even _more_ surprised when Anita snickers, goes and snatches the various sharp objects up by herself, and then joins the two of them as they set about cutting away Caustic’s beard with the apparent intent of giving him sideburns.

Bloodhound and Wraith keep to the bar, rolling their eyes while still seeming to be amused watching the chaos unfold as they pour out shots for one another and chat. One of the decoys has apparently decided to teach Pathfinder bar flair, and the MRVN is proving to be surprisingly good at it, flashing the martini emoji on his display screen with pride.

Which leaves just Makoa and Elliott on the couch beside one another, and _God_ , Elliott is _acutely_ aware of just how close the other man is sitting to him. Enough so that their thighs are just about touching, and he has to bite his lip each time the other man shifts his weight or laughs, brushing their legs _that_ bit closer together. His face feels warm, and he isn’t sure how much of it he’s going to be able to continue to blame on the alcohol.

Warmer still, when Makoa leans back, casually throws his arm over the back of the sofa, and -- his fingers ever so _slightly_ brush over the back of Elliott’s neck when he moves -- which has to have been an accident, right? All the same, Elliott _shivers_ at the sensation and hopes to God Makoa doesn’t notice.

Octavio turns in their direction, enthusiastically beckoning towards Elliott.

“ _Ayyy_ , Elliott, _mi amigo_! You’re missing all the _diversión_!” He leans backwards, allowing the rest of the Legends to have a glimpse at their work in progress: Caustic’s mustache is gone, and Anita is currently sawing away at the remaining beard clinging to his chin. Ajay, however, straightens up, still clutching her scissors, and lightly elbows Octavio in the ribs.

“ _Déjalo en paz, Octavio_ ,” she murmurs, and although Elliott doesn’t have a _clue_ what she’s saying, he recognises the impish note in her tone, “ _esta noche es la noche_.” She shoots Elliott what seems to be something akin to a knowing look, before returning to her work. Octavio, meanwhile, looks mildly confused -- until something clearly snaps into place, because he straight-up _beams_ at Elliott, and goes back to hacking away at Caustic’s beard with renewed vigour.

Elliott has _no_ fucking clue what kind of exchange just took place, but it’s done nothing to help the flush heating his face. He’s _positive_ he’s been doing a pretty good job of...well, it isn’t exactly a _crush_... Is it? Well, whatever it is -- he’s sure he’s been hiding it just fine.

But that exact _feeling_ is stirring in an increasingly uncomfortable way, what with Makoa so very _close_ and so very _warm_ , and it’s all very...distracting. So much so, that he realises that he’s reacting a little too late to each joke made, when cheers go up as Path flips a bottle behind him from over his shoulder, then successfully catches it in front of him, or when Ajay, Anita and Octavio step back to reveal their handiwork: Caustic now sporting sideburns as well as a curly drawn-on mustache, and the _pièce de résistance_ , a completely coloured in hairline. 

He’s vaguely aware that Path has clearly started his _own_ fire at some point, probably thinking it would enhance his flair skills, because he can hear one of his decoys yelping in alarm whilst Octavio cheers, but he’s too distracted because -- 

Makoa is laughing heartily at the goings-on -- he might be considered one of the more _responsible_ members of their group, but Elliot’s noticed he nurses something of a mischievous streak all the same. But _God_ , he’s always had such a _nice_ laugh, so warm and deep and strangely comforting, one that made you smile right alongside him. Even when Elliott’s stupid anxiety is twisting in his gut, causing his heart to hammer wildly in his chest, just the simple sound of Makoa’s chuckle, however far away it is -- it always _does_ something, makes it that little bit easier to breathe, settles the lump in his throat and inadvertently, he finds the corners of his lips twitching upwards into a smile. 

And he’s so very _close_ right now, he can feel the way he shakes slightly as he laughs, and Elliott is far too conscious of the arm slung behind him, and its proximity to his neck and oh god _fucking damnit_ , he’s definitely blushing again. He tries to mask it by taking a long swig of his beer, but by the time he lowers it, Anita is looking at him, one hand braced on her hip with a pointed smirk.

 _Fuck_. 

Regardless, it seems like with their pranks complete and Path evidently satisfied with his newly-acquired skills -- yeah, maybe Elliott _really_ should have just offered him a job at the Lounge, rather than instantly suggesting a bloodsport, but it was too late now -- the Legends have collectively decided to call it a night. Wraith and Hound are the first to depart, Hound bidding them all a polite goodbye whilst Wraith settles for her typical dismissive wave over her back as she opens up a portal to god knows where. Pathfinder looks over to where Caustic is _still_ somehow asleep in the armchair, snoring, and makes his way over, gives him a hearty pat on the shoulder. The older man jerks awake with a snort, and peers around blearily, apparently still too disoriented to notice the trio giggling around him, hiding their tools of destruction behind their backs.

“Wh...what…Where?”

“I have noticed you appear tired, friend! Allow me to please help you make your way home!” 

Caustic blinks back at the robot, still confused, and Path crouches down, gets an arm under his shoulder, and helps him to his feet. As he guides him towards the doorway, Elliott can just about hear his cheerful commentary.

“I like your artwork, friend! Humans are always finding such interesting ways to express themselves, I find it fascinating!”

Caustic just grunts in response, and then the two of them are gone.

Anita, Octavio and Ajay gather their things, pulling on coats and chattering amongst themselves. They look to Makoa, and he shakes his head, holding up his half-full bottle of beer.

“Nah, brother. Still got this to finish.”

Ajay smirks.

“Mmhm. You sure do.”

Elliott swallows thickly because -- this is -- this is surely just their typical banter, right? Nothing out of the ordinary -- they were always teasing one another, particularly himself, Ajay and Octavio. Octavio hasn’t appeared to have noticed anything out of the ordinary, is just bouncing on the spot and urging Ajay to hurry _up_ already, but Anita is _definitely_ pursing her lips in a way that is. Well. Very suggestive that she might just be biting back a smile.

The three of them head to the exit, calling out their farewells -- but not before Ajay turns around and gives Elliott a very deliberate wink.

Elliott flushes. Okay. So maybe it hasn’t just been his own imagination after all.

And then it’s just the two of them alone. Very, very much alone. 

Even the decoys have winked out of existence by now, and what with the cleaning bots having taken care of most of the night’s mess, he doesn’t even have any kind of excuse about needing to go clean up or take care of collecting spare glasses or -- or _anything_. Without just flat-out appearing rude or as if… Or as if he isn’t hoping to see where this might go. Which, despite it being a terrible idea and all, he very much _is_. 

So of course, he resorts to his usual default coping mechanism: awkward babbling. 

“S-so,” he begins -- immediately cursing his stammer; like he needs to make his nervousness any _more_ apparent than it already is -- “good night, huh? Didn’t think Bangalore - I mean - Anita - didn’t th-think she had that in her, I guess Ajay -- is having a bad in-inf- bad effect, on her, is what I mean. And Oc- Oct--”

He’s cut off abruptly by the sensation of fingers coming up and lightly resting against the nape of his neck.

And oh. _Oh_. This is most definitely _not_ a coincidence. 

Elliott can practically _feel_ Makoa’s eyes burning into him, albeit he doesn’t trust himself to look, inhaling sharply as the other man curiously traces his fingertips up and over the fade shaved into the back of his head. They graze the stubble, until they find the longer tresses closer to the top of his skull. Elliott’s eyelids flutter slightly, and struggle to remain open. And _then_ \-- Gibraltar knots his fingers in his hair, and tightens his grip ever so slightly.

Oh, _fuck_.

There’s no containing it, Elliott just flat out fucking _whimpers_ , head instinctively leaning back into his touch. And really -- there’s no coming back from _that_ , is there, and so he finally turns his head, and allows himself to look at Makoa.

Makoa is just _staring_ at him with a look of complete and utter unbridled lust and hunger and _God_ , it’s just for _Elliott_ alone, and the last semblance of what pathetic amount of self-restraint he ever _had_ just completely and utterly shatters.

Fuck Blisk, and fuck bad ideas. Elliott can’t fucking _take_ it anymore, and thus straightens up, only so that he can sling one leg over Makoa’s, straddling his lap, and just -- they reach for one another at the _exact_ same time. Their lips meet, both sets of hands burying themselves in one another’s hair as their mouths open, equally messy and desperate and oh so fucking _good_. So much so that Elliott _moans_ against Makoa’s mouth, which only encourages the other man to pull him closer, kiss him _harder_. 

But -- Elliott feels his hair being tugged again, this time backward a tad bit more forcefully, as Makoa breaks away, panting, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. There’s a brief fluttering of panic in Elliott’s chest as he wonders whether he’s done anything wrong, has he -- has he pushed things too far, has he gotten the wrong idea? Makoa had _seemed_ just as into it as he was, but…

“This,” Makoa breathes, and Elliott is set a little at ease seeing just how eager he still looks, “this is okay, right?” 

Elliott blinks in slight disbelief for a moment, because -- well -- isn’t it _obvious_? But before he can reply, Gibraltar continues:

“I’ve just...been thinking about you a lot. About…” He reaches up, brushing his thumb over Elliott’s lips, and Elliott can’t help but gasp at the sensation -- before drawing it into his mouth and nipping gently. He runs his tongue over the thick pad of it, and Makoa gives a low grunt at that, his free hand travelling down his partner’s back, before coming to settle on his hip, giving it a light squeeze.

Elliott meets his eyes and flashes him a wicked grin around the digit, before sucking more of his thumb into his mouth, grazing his teeth over the joint and sliding his tongue down the underside, as he begins to undulate his hips. Makoa just stares back at him, utterly transfixed, fingers tightening against Elliott’s waist with each rotation. 

Elliott draws Makoa’s whole thumb into his mouth and -- _goddamn_ , but his hands really _are_ fucking big, and doesn’t _that_ get his mind racing -- gives his knuckle a quick, final bite and withdrawing, but not before Makoa makes a point of dragging the pad of his thumb across Elliott’s upper palate as he pulls away. That wrenches a loud groan from Elliott, but he forces himself to sit back up, bracing himself on Makoa’s shoulders and -- fuck, they’re just as broad and muscular beneath his hands as he’d always imagined they might feel, when he’d pictured the other man during lonely nights, hips pulsing up into his own hand. He can’t help but take a moment to let his fingers drift over them, marvelling at his defined deltoids, the way his tattoos feel beneath his touch. 

In his eagerness to explore more of Makoa’s body, he inadvertently scoots himself that bit forward onto the other man’s lap and -- _oh_. Well, this definitely appears to be going _somewhere_. Which iss just fine by Elliott, given that he can feel his own cock pressing hard against the constraints of his belt, to the point it’s becoming increasingly difficult to not just whip the damn thing off.

But. Elliott’s spent enough damn time fantasising about this moment, and what it might be like to openly look and feel, he’s more concerned about getting _Makoa_ out of his damn clothes first.

He reaches for the bottom of Makoa’s tank top, wrenches it up and off him, Makoa sitting up that bit straighter from the couch so as to allow him easier access. He catches Elliott’s lower lip between his teeth once Elliott pulls his top over his head and tosses it aside. And _God_ , that’s good, but he wants to _see_ \-- so he grips the larger man’s shoulders, gently eases him back against the couch, his teeth dragging on Elliott’s lip as he obediently lets himself be guided back, still seated, but slumped backward enough that Elliott can _properly_ look at him. 

Oh, and it’s a _lot_ to enjoy. He allows himself the time to indulgently drink in Makoa’s shirtless form, unable to help himself from touching, both hands sliding down his heaving chest, fingernails just ever so _lightly_ raking his skin as he does so. He gazes in awe as he traces his fingers over Makoa’s abdomen, the muscles beneath the soft flesh of his stomach particularly taut what with the start of a new season and all, and he relishes the way the other man _shudders_ under his touch.

“ _Ell_ \--” is about as much warning as he gets, before Makoa pulls him back in for another kiss, knotting one hand in his fringe whilst the other sneaks under his tank, lightly digs his nails into the base of his spine. Elliott meets his kiss, with equal -- if not _more_ \-- ferocity, digging both hands into Makoa’s hair, which has mostly come loose of its topknot now, giving Elliott the freedom to card his fingers through. As their mouths open again to one another, Elliott allows a hand to drift down and settle itself on Makoa’s cheek, savouring the way his jaw moves, the way it parts to slip his tongue inside Elliott’s mouth, how he can _feel_ each noise he manages to wrench from Gibraltar, just -- 

Just how very eager Makoa seems to be for _Elliott_ , after all the time Elliott has spent thinking about _Makoa_. 

He’s not even sure he can process that idea properly just yet, and thus uses his other hand to resume exploring Makoa’s chest, greedy now that he finally is allowed to freely indulge in doing so. He slips his fingers lower, and Makoa allows it -- _encourages_ it, even, shifting his position to grant Elliott better access. 

And -- _ah_.

Gibraltar is _rock_ hard beneath his palm, and _fuck_ , the _size_ of him, just the mere feel of him pressing through his cargo pants is enough to cause Elliott to emit an embarrassingly needy whine of delight. Makoa groans -- whether at Elliott’s reaction or the sensation, or some combination of both -- and releases Elliott’s hip, grabbing his ass instead. Elliott bucks his hips instinctively and -- come to think of it, _he_ was wearing too many clothes as well. He breaks away from Makoa’s kiss with a gasp, pulling up the end of his own tank with to expose his own chest. Rather than tug it completely off, however, he just bites down on the fabric, throwing one arm behind his head and goes back to palming his partner’s erection with his free hand, smirking around the vest as he watches Makoa’s reaction.

Which is -- _fuck_ , more than what he’s been hoping for. The other man just _stares_ for a moment, before suddenly releasing his hold on his ass, those large hands of his hungrily traversing the expanse of Elliott’s exposed torso instead -- lingering each time he finds a scar, fingertips curiously tracing the tissue. He gently pinches Elliott’s nipple piercing, which is _so_ fucking good that Elliott _hisses_ in delight, nearly releasing his hold on his tank as his entire body _shudders_. 

Makoa glances up at him and whilst he still appears just about as drunk with lust as Elliott is, there’s still a noticeable flicker of…concern that crosses his face.

Elliott’s breath catches in his chest, and it’s not just because of the way Makoa’s hands continue to explore his body. It’s -- it’s that _look_ , and there goes that strange twist in his chest again that seemed to go hand-in-hand with catching sight of Makoa as of late. He _knows_ Gibraltar from the ring, knows that the way he plays the Games is with the sole purpose of protecting his squad, looking out for everyone else on his team -- a far cry from Elliott’s own particular set of skills, which primarily deal with trying to lure other squads _out_. He sees the guy generously trading out his own MedKits with his squad mates in the aftermath of particularly heavy fire fights, always paying attention to what guns the others are carrying, making sure everyone is equally stocked on shield cells.

Fuck, Elliott had grown up and lived on Solace his entire life, he’d heard about the famous Makoa Gibraltar and his heroics in SARAS _long_ before either of them had joined the Games. So he was already all-too-aware of just how caring and considerate the Legend Gibraltar was. 

It still fucking _does_ something to him, however, having him look at Elliott like that. 

“Ell,” Makoa breathes, one hand drifting down and idly exploring the curve of his hipbone, but never breaking their gaze -- “are you sure this is --”

Elliott doesn’t give him a chance to finish his sentence, opting instead to release his teeth’s hold on his tank top, pulling it off and over and letting it fall to the floor before seizing Makoa’s lips once more with his again. Makoa answers the kiss just as feverently, and when their mouths open to one another once more, Elliott echoes with an incoherent noise of affirmation that yes, yes, _yes_ , fuck, _yes_ , this is _more_ than alright. 

Between that and Elliott continuing to palm Makoa’s cock through his trousers, Elliott’s utter and complete consent must have finally become clear, because Makoa groans his name against his lips before releasing his grasp on his hips, fumbling for his own belt. Elliott’s fingers quickly join the desperate scramble to undo it, because _fuck_ , he wants to _see_. After some clumsy, frantic grappling at the fastenings of his pants, they finally manage to undo the belt, buttons, and fly somehow, and all Makoa has to do was lift his hips and Elliott is _on_ it -- digging his fingers into the clothing on either side and greedily _yanking_ them down, underwear and all. 

Makoa’s dick springs free, rock hard and _leaking_ and-- _oh_.

Yeah, sure, he’d stolen the odd look or two -- or three, who kept count really -- whilst in the changing rooms or when heading to the showers after a Game, who _hadn’t_ , honestly. Octavio had even hooted his appreciation the first time he’d seen Makoa completely undressed, hollering something in Spanish that had earned him quite the smack on the back of the head courtesy of Ajay. Makoa had been a little bashful at the time, and laughed it off, but -- _fuck_ , seeing _just_ how big he was, and how very hard he was for _Elliott_ …

He _must_ be staring because when he meets Makoa’s eyes again, he’s surprised to see the other man’s face is tinged slightly red. 

“We - we can just, you know,” Makoa mumbles, face turning an increasingly deeper shade of crimson, “we can just...do this. Or just...hands, you know, it doesn’t -- I’m just glad to be --”

Elliott’s heard enough.

He slips out of Gibraltar’s lap, and sinks to his knees in front of him, determinedly tugging at the remaining items of his clothing. The larger man makes a noise of surprise, but, well, Elliott isn’t relenting in his attempts to strip him completely, and so finally joins in the effort of shuffling out of his cargo pants and underwear, which Elliott promptly flings carelessly away along with the rest of their discarded clothes. 

Leaving just a very naked Makoa, and Elliott, grinning wickedly up at him as he pushes his knees apart and shuffles himself forward between them. Makoa is just _staring_ down at him, visibly struggling to keep himself together, fingers now digging into the fabric of the sofa and it’s so fucking _hot_ that Elliott is genuinely having to make an effort to not grope him _self_ through his jeans. But -- no -- watching Makoa like this is _much_ more fun, and so he takes the base of his cock in his hand, gives it several, slow strokes, never taking his eyes off the other man’s face.

Makoa lays a hand on Elliott’s shoulder, biting down on his lip as he clearly struggles to restrain himself from bucking his hips upwards into Elliott’s grip 

“ _Ell_ ,” he pants, “this -- this is _good_ , you can just -- you don’t have to --”

Oh, as _if_ he’d stop now.

Elliott slides his free hand up from Makoa’s knee, along the inside of his thigh, squeezing the thick muscle he finds there. And with one last parting teasing smile at Makoa, he leans in and laps up the precum already spilling from the slit of his dick. He can hear, feel, as well as _see_ Makoa inhale sharply at that, his free hand flying to grasp Elliott’s other shoulder, fingers tightening ever-so-slightly around it. It’s clear just how much he’s trying to hold himself back, and -- well -- it’s a nice sentiment and all, but Elliott is keen to teach him _exactly_ how unnecessary it really is.

As tempting as it is to just take as much of his cock in his mouth as he can at once -- and by _fuck_ , is it tempting -- Elliott makes a point of slowly running his tongue around its head, relishing the way Gibraltar has to grit his teeth, sucking in deep, shakey breaths at the effort to not thrust up into his mouth. Using the hand still gripping the base of Makoa’s cock, he guides his dick deeper into his mouth and _ah_ \-- Makoa definitely has to be up there with some of the _bigger_ partners he’s had, if not _the_ biggest -- and it sparks a particular kind of delight in Elliott’s gut. Elliott had had three older brothers to contend with for most of his life, he’d always had to make that extra bit of effort to ensure he stood out, and it made him that bit more competitive as well as being that bit more eager to please. 

A dangerous combination when it came to sucking cock.

Elliott draws back, swirling his tongue around the tip of Makoa’s dick once more, humming appreciatively before sliding his lips back down the length of him. He hasn’t looked away once, and from the expression on Makoa’s face, it’s clear that that fact _alone_ is driving him crazy. His hips buck up into Elliott’s mouth just ever so _slightly_ , clearly still trying to keep himself under control, and Elliott would smile if his mouth wasn’t currently otherwise occupied. 

He begins to suck him off in earnest, still gripping the base of his prick as Elliott bobs his head, trying to guide a little bit _more_ of Makoa inside his mouth each time he takes it in. Makoa is panting now, hissing out the odd noise of delight every now and then. He tentatively reaches out, brushes Elliott’s fringe from his face -- and once Elliott lets out a small _hum_ of appreciation, gently knits his fingers in it.

Which was _exactly_ what Elliott has been hoping for. His free hand releases Makoa’s knee and reaches around, grabbing his ass instead and squeezes, trying to encourage him to fuck into his mouth. 

Makoa gives a slight yelp at that, and with a heavy swallow, gently tightens his hold on Elliott’s hair and begins to slowly guide the movement of Elliott’s mouth, experimentally rocking his hips upward. Elliott sucks him down greedily, determined to take as much as he fucking can -- as well as to show Makoa exactly much he _could_ take.

“You look so good like this,” Gibraltar murmurs, pushing Elliott’s fringe out of his face whilst keeping his thick fingers tangled in it, his free hand coming up to gently cup the side of his partner’s neck. Which _fuck_ , Elliott can’t help but give a needy whimper of delight around his dick, just as turned on by the other man’s words as he is by his touch. The more of him he takes inside, the more difficult it becomes to maintain eye contact but he can _feel_ Makoa’s thighs trembling on either side of his shoulders, and so he chances a glance upwards and -- _God_. Elliott knows that he’s doing his fucking damndest, but Makoa just looks _so_ fucking turned on, he really can’t help himself; he lets go of the base of his shaft and digs _both_ of his hands into the flesh of the other man’s ass in an attempt to get _that_ bit closer.

Makoa gasps, fingers tightening in Elliott’s hair. But he must have noticed just how much of an effect his praise was having on Elliott, because he presses on.

“You like that, huh?” he asks, and it’s not exactly like Elliott can answer but -- “I’ve seen you looking before, you know.”

Elliott’s face is already a fairly bright shade of red, thanks to just how fucking horny he is as well as the exertion of his current efforts, but he can feel it flare up even hotter upon learning he’d been caught out. Well -- fuck, it’s embarrassing, but it had worked out for the best, right? He’ll _personally_ chalk having the achievement of Makoa Gibraltar’s cock in his mouth as a successful one for the books.

“It made me think,” Makoa continues, releasing Elliott’s neck, knuckles brushing over his cheek as he continues to drag his mouth up and down the larger man’s shaft, “made me think about this. How good your lips would look wrapped around my cock, and _fuck_ , Ell,” he groans, thumb brushing against the corner of his mouth, “I knew it would look good but I never knew it’d look as good as you do _now_.”

 _Fuck_. Elliott just openly _moans_ around Makoa’s cock at that, _desperate_ to touch himself but -- forces his jaw that bit wider, drawing Gibraltar’s dick that bit _deeper_. He can feel his throat resisting and his eyes watering but he refuses to relent, not when he’s _this_ fucking close to taking all of him in. 

Makoa, at _last_ presumably gets the hint that Elliott is pretty damn keen to get his face fucked, and begins to guide the bob of his head a little more purposely -- still not _quite_ as much as Elliott is hungry for but -- tears are starting to stream down his face, all the while Gibraltar continues to encourage him --

“ _Ell_ ,” A groan, “your mouth feels so _good_ \--” and “you look so damn _hot_ \--”, as Elliott makes muffled noises around his dick, nails digging into the flesh of his ass, urging him on. 

And with that, Makoa gives into what Elliott has been craving for, thumbs his chin so as to open his mouth wide, and uses his grip on his partner’s head to push himself inside as far as his cock can go.

Elliott can feel Gibraltar’s cock brush the back of his throat, tears and sweat damp on his cheeks, saliva dripping from his lips and down his chin as he struggles to breathe and yes, yes, _yes_ , he _keens_ around the bigger man’s length. 

Makoa holds him there -- all too briefly -- then releases his hold on his head, allowing Elliott the room to pull back and away. Elliott can’t resist swirling his tongue around the head of his cock before finally pulling off, coughing and sucking in a couple of deep breaths. He glances up at Gibraltar, eager to gauge the extent of his approval and yeah, the other man looks _completely_ come apart -- red-faced and panting, drenched in sweat but -- there’s still a mild expression of concern on his face all the same.

Before he can even _ask_ , Elliott flashes him an impish grin and wraps his lips back around his dick, this time setting a faster pace. His jaw is _aching_ , but it’s the _best_ kind of ache and Makoa -- apparently finally comfortable that this was what Elliott _wanted_ \-- digs his fingers into Elliott’s hair and starts to fuck his face more urgently. Elliott’s _own_ hips are pistoning thin air at this point, so turned on that it’s borderline painful, shamelessly choking out strangled cries as Gibraltar swears, his pace becoming increasingly more frantic.

“I’m gonna --” Makoa pants, hand slipping from Elliott’s cheek to his shoulder whilst the other tightens in his fringe, “I’m gonna -- Ell, fuck, _fuck_ , I’m gonna come --” 

And with that warning, he tries to gently pull Elliott off of him, but Elliott stubbornly refuses, holds on tight to Makoa’s ass and continues to suck him off with renewed vigour. 

He hears Makoa cry his name one last time, and that’s about as much extra warning he gets before he feels him coming hot and heavy in his mouth. Elliott swallows it eagerly, not caring about how much of a mess he’s making, even as he can feel some of the cum spill from his mouth and trail down his chin. 

Once Makoa is finally spent, Elliott pulls off -- albeit not before giving him one final lick at the slit of his dick, which he can _feel_ sending tremours through the other man’s body -- and sits back on his heels, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He grins proudly up at Gibraltar, who is just -- _staring_ at Elliott with a vague look of awe, chest heaving as he collapses back into the couch. He’s still stroking Elliott’s sweat-soaked hair, and it’s taking immense self-restraint to not just lean into his touch.

“Did it live up to the fantasy?” Elliott teases hoarsely, attempting to ease himself back upright -- a shaky task, given just how fucking turned on he is. It’s taking all he had to just not undo his own belt and take himself in hand right fucking _now_.

Two large hands suddenly encircle his waist, and he has just enough time to give a yelp of surprise, before he finds himself deposited in Makoa’s lap. The other man is smiling up at him, flushed and messy-haired and oh so very fucking _gorgeous_.

“ _Better_ ,” Gibraltar murmurs, then reaches for Elliott’s belt just as Elliott does the exact same thing. There’s a small amount of awkward fumbling and cursing (from Elliott, anyway), before they finally manage to undo both his zipper and the fastenings of his jeans and hike them down, allowing Elliott’s heavily leaking cock to _finally_ be released from the confinements of his clothing. 

Which - fuck, _fuck_ , now that he’s finished focusing on getting Makoa off, Elliott is suddenly _far_ too aware of just how goddamn touch-starved he is, and he instinctively thrusts into the other man’s lap. Makoa doesn’t touch him quite yet, instead continues to insistently tug down Elliott’s jeans and underwear, and so Elliott impatiently squirms out of his remaining clothing, until he’s just as naked as the other man and straddling his lap and -- fuck, that’s _extremely_ hot, actually. Makoa finally takes him in hand, resulting in Elliott emitting an embarrassingly high-pitched mewl, hips bucking forwards into his grip at the mere touch.

 _God_ , and Elliott can’t take it at _all_ anymore, he groans shamelessly before grasping Makoa by the hair, pulling him into a kiss, their mouths already open again before they even meet .

And _fuck_ \-- the fact Gibraltar is able to taste himself on Elliott’s tongue must be doing something to them _both_ , because they’re both needily gasping against one another, Makoa’s grip tightening around the base of Elliott’s cock. He slides it up, and makes a wordless noise of delight when he feels just how much pre-cum is leaking from his slit. 

Elliott twitches in his lap, pulling Makoa closer, wanting to consume as much of him as he possibly can. As good as this fucking is -- and it was very fucking good -- his only regret is that Makoa is probably not ready to go right again, right _now_ because he could really, _really_ do with his cock inside him.

Makoa -- thankfully -- ceases his teasing quickly enough, and begins to jerk him off at a steady pace. Elliott -- albeit with no small amount of difficulty -- tears himself away from the other man’s mouth, and just _grins_ at him as he leans back, perching himself with one hand on one of Makoa’s knees. With his free hand, he purposefully grazes his thumb over his own swollen lips, swiping away a trace amount of cum caught in his beard before sliding that hand back into his own hair and arching his back.

He thrusts his hips into Makoa’s grip, making absolutely zero effort to stifle the noise that he’s making, no matter _how_ desperate he sounds. He can’t help but cast a look down, and _fuck_ , but those hands of his really _do_ almost engulf his entire cock, and it forces a breathy gasp of delight from his chest. 

Elliott releases his hold on his hair, smoothes his hand down over his own face, pausing once more at his mouth -- but this time pushing two fingers between his lips, sucking on them coyly as he keeps his eyes locked with Makoa’s. Gibraltar is still just _staring_ at him, looking almost...transfixed, in a way Elliott was not at _all_ used to. Sure, he has one hell of a fanbase thanks to the Games, and yeah, he never exactly struggles when it comes to finding someone to bring home -- or to a bathroom cubicle or darkened alley behind the bar, you _know_ , people are generally excited to hook up with _Mirage_.

He is not at all used to someone wanting _Elliott_. 

He pulls his fingers from his mouth, giving them a final lick for good measure, before slipping his hand behind him and teasing his own hole. 

The sensation _alone_ is enough to have him whimpering and writhing on Makoa’s lap, but the other man’s _reaction_ \-- Elliott _keens_ as Makoa suddenly digs the fingers of his free hand into the flesh of his ass cheek, tries to guide the pump of Elliott’s hips into his grip. He might have come only a few minutes before, but Elliott can feel Gibraltar’s hips thrusting upwards beneath him -- and -- Elliott likes to pride himself on his endurance but the way Makoa is just fucking _looking_ at him like this, face flushed, hair falling loose from its tie, all the while Makoa’s hand jerking his dick at an increasingly fast pace --

Elliott is so mesmerized by the intensity of Makoa’s gaze, that it takes him a moment to process the hand grasping his ass cheek has been gradually kneading its way closer to his hole, and when -- once Makoa nudges Elliott’s fingers aside, circles it before easing just the _barest_ tip of his thick fingers inside --

That’s all it takes. 

Elliott _yells_ , his hips snapping forward into Makoa’s grip, practically doubling over as he grasps his partner’s hair, riding out the rest of his orgasm, clinging to Gibraltar as he gasps out --

“ _\--Fff -- Makoa -- ah -- Makoa, Makoaaaaa --_ ”

He comes all over Makoa’s torso and chest, grabbing onto both of the other man’s shoulders, digging his nails into his skin, trying to hold himself upright as he shudders through his orgasm. Gibraltar murmurs encouragement as he strokes him through, reassuring him all the while about just how _well_ he had done, how _good_ he looked the whole time and it has Elliott fucking _shaking_ , head falling forward and mouthing helplessly against Makoa’s temple.

He shifts, forehead coming to rest against Makoa’s as he tries to regain his breath, eyes closed and still shivering with the occasional aftershock. When he opens them, he’s surprised to find Makoa just gazing back at him with a look that can only really be described as tender: something Elliott is _definitely_ not used to seeing during the post-sex haze with the usual partners he tended to take home.

Gibraltar reaches up then, brushes Elliott’s considerably tousled curls from his face and gently tucks them behind his ear before drawing him in for a kiss. Elliott finds himself just _melting_ into it, making a small noise of contentment as he does so, thumbs brushing over Makoa’s clavicle.

It’s a kind of intimacy he’s not used to but --

It’s nice. It’s extremely fucking nice.

Which makes eventually breaking away considerably hard, but after one final light peck on the lips, he pulls back and shoots Makoa a devilish grin. 

“This is _my_ bar, yanno,” he remarks, casting an innocent glance at his partner’s chest, wet with cum. “I have certain sanitary requirements to uphold.”

He has just about enough time to catch the confused look that flickers across Makoa’s face before he scoots backward on his lap, drops back down between Makoa’s knees and licks one long line of his own cum off Gibraltar’s torso.

Makoa gives a startled noise, hands flying to Elliott’s face, one cupping his cheek while the other grabs his hair. Elliott makes a show of licking his lips whilst meeting his eyes, before going back to the task at hand, lapping up the mess he’d left all across his partner’s abdomen and chest. He lingers briefly to gently bite a nipple before resurfacing, meeting Makoa’s eyes once again with a proud grin. He’s well aware he has the taste of _both of them_ in his mouth right now, and it’s… Jesus, how is this happening again so _soon_ , but it’s causing a stirring in his dick that’s _very_ difficult to ignore.

He surges back into Makoa’s lap _just_ as Makoa is reaching for him, and their lips briefly brush before Elliott finds himself suddenly flipped. He gives a yelp of surprise, momentarily addled by the rapid switch of position, but discovers himself laid back on the couch, blinking up at Makoa hovering over him, wearing a smirk that could rival Mirage’s trademark smugness.

It’s a look he wouldn’t have ever even imagined Gibraltar to be capable of, and Elliott finds his legs automatically locking around the other man’s waist, pulling him that much closer. 

“Okay, okay,” Makoa chuckles, smiling as he brushes his knuckles over Elliott’s cheek, the other hand propping himself up just enough on the couch so that they’ve got _some_ room to exchange words. “Alright. We always knew you had a big mouth. Do you think...”

His gaze starts to drift downward, and Elliott’s grin feels like it might split his face in two. He tightens his legs around Gibraltar’s waist and loops both arms around his neck, one tangling itself in Makoa’s hair whilst the other clasps the back of his neck and draws him in.

“Wouldn’t be a Legend if I didn’t like a challenge, would I?”

** 

It dawns on Ellliott the next day that he’s _really_ going to need to replace that couch in the bar.

But.

When he feels Makoa huff a sleepy sigh against the nape of his neck, cuddling Elliott back against his broad chest--

He figures it’s worth the cost.

**  
[](http://imgbox.com/LT1l05PH)  
[](http://imgbox.com/2P8vpWLc)  
[](http://imgbox.com/PZRrwlGc)  
[](http://imgbox.com/tst2V2ED)

**Author's Note:**

> So, it's absolutely impossible to find a fake group chat text generator, seeing as they all just apparently do DMs only, thus I had to settle for a notification screen one. Which means that. I GUESS THIS IS WATTSON'S PHONE THE FOLLOWING MORNING, HUH.
> 
> SHOUT OUT TO MY BELOVED FRIEND ROS WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THE PATH-MIRAGE-AJAY TEXT EXCHANGE IN THIRD SCREENSHOT, ILU!!!


End file.
